


Keeping Secrets

by Dangerousnotbroken



Series: On A Slow Night 'verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Teasing, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2731355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I feel like we haven’t seen Cas in a while,” Sam points out casually. They’re drinking coffee in a diner, low winter sun casting pale light across the formica table top, and Dean had barely been paying attention until he heard the angel’s name dropped into the middle of an otherwise boring conversation. He almost challenges Sam’s assessment but then he realizes it’s true. Sam hasn’t seen Castiel in nearly a month. Dean’s seen him multiple times since then. He’s started showing up for no reason lately, or rather, no hunting related reason. They haven’t actually needed to call on him for help with anything in some time, but this thing they have going has Dean waiting for the shift in the air that signals the flapping of wings almost any time he’s alone lately. So instead he just shrugs and sips his coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Secrets

“I feel like we haven’t seen Cas in a while,” Sam points out casually. They’re drinking coffee in a diner, low winter sun casting pale light across the formica table top, and Dean had barely been paying attention until he heard the angel’s name dropped into the middle of an otherwise boring conversation. He almost challenges Sam’s assessment but then he realizes it’s true. Sam hasn’t seen Castiel in nearly a month. Dean’s seen him multiple times since then. He’s started showing up for no reason lately, or rather, no hunting related reason. They haven’t actually needed to call on him for help with anything in some time, but this thing they have going has Dean waiting for the shift in the air that signals the flapping of wings almost any time he’s alone lately. So instead he just shrugs and sips his coffee.

“I’m sure he’s busy,” Dean replies in what he hopes is a casual tone. “Angel stuff. You know.” Sam stares at him across the table, eyes weighing and discerning, and for a brief moment Dean thinks he knows something’s up. But Sam just takes another bite of his granola, because of course he orders freakin cereal at a restaurant, and nods like the answer is acceptable. “Why? You got a problem that needs holy intervention? Nest of demons? Anything even approaching a case?” Dean gestures towards the laptop Sam is hovering over. He knows there are at least seven tabs open on his browser and every single one is a news story about something that may or may not be death and destruction of the otherworldly variety. Dean’s not sure there’s been any time he’s personally had that many tabs open that didn’t necessitate slamming the lid shut the second his brother walked in to the room. Certainly not something he’d do in a crowded diner.

“Nope,” Sam replies, with a shake of his head. “Nothing. Unbelievably quiet.”

“Well, keep digging. I’m sure something will pop up eventually.”

“Right. Or we could, you know, take a day off? We haven’t stayed in one place more than long enough to kill something and skip out in months. We could use a weekend.” Sam seems so enthused at the idea that Dean doesn’t have it in him to argue.

“Fine. A weekend though. Two days, and then we find an actual hunt.” He glances at his empty coffee and thinks about asking for a slice of pie when the waiter comes to refill it. He’s basically on vacation; pie at breakfast is totally reasonable.

 

Taking a weekend in a town he doesn’t know turns out to be insanely boring. It’s not enough time to do any work on the Impala, and he doesn’t have tools beyond the basics anyway, and he’s pretty sure the motel manager would take exception to him doing anything more extensive than topping up the oil while she’s parked in the lot out front. He takes a nap that afternoon sprawled out on top of the covers of his bed. The room is blessedly quiet; they hadn’t had any double rooms left at check in, so Sam’s in another single next door. Dean wakes up as the afternoon sun is sinking on the horizon, yawns and stretches and tugs on his boots to go track his brother down. There’s a place down the road that boasts ‘Best Burgers in the County,’ and he means to see if they’ve got the chops. Sam answers the door with a finger marking his place in a book that looks a little too old and heavy for vacation reading, but he doesn’t bother mocking it. Sam’s idea of unwinding has always been very different from his own.

“Wanna go grab some grub?” Dean says without greeting, and Sam finds something other than a finger to keep his page in the book.

The burger place looks kinda run down but it’s pretty full for the beginning of the dinner rush and it smells amazing so Dean figures it passes muster. They’re seated at a booth for less than a minute before Sam excuses himself and picks a careful path between the tables towards the restrooms at the back of the dining area. Almost as soon as he’s out of sight, Dean looks up to see Castiel standing beside the table.

“You have got to stop doing that,” Dean exclaims forcefully as the angel slides into the seat beside him, trapping Dean in the corner. Cas just looks at him questioningly. “You keep showing up out of thin air like that eventually someone’s going to notice.”

“I’m careful to avoid detection,” Cas replies placidly.

“Of course you are,” Dean says with a roll of his eyes. He turns his attention back to the menu. This place has an incredibly large assortment of burgers and he’s almost certain he’ll just order a bacon cheeseburger in the end but it seems only right to scope out the list before ordering. The only problem is he’s considerably more aware of Cas seated just a little too close on his right side than he is of the words he’s reading. It’s a serious distraction. He zones out on the page, torn between the competing draws on his attention and he doesn’t even notice Sam returning until he slides into the booth with an enthusiastic greeting for the angel.

“When did you get here, Cas?” Sam asks as he picks his menu back up, scanning over the page. He’s probably looking for a salad. “Did Dean call you?” Cas shakes his head.

“I only arrived a few moments ago. Is there something you require assistance with?”

“Actually, no. We don’t even have a case right now. Figured we’d take a few days off, rest up a little.”

“I see,” he replies, monotone. Dean’s too distracted by the heat radiating off his body and the very minimal distance between them to think of much but the raw timbre of his voice. He’s sure there’s other conversation happening but he doesn’t really notice what it is until Sam snaps his fingers in front of Dean’s face. There's a waiter standing beside their table doing a valiant job of disguising his irritation at being kept waiting.

“Are you going to order?” Sam jabs as Dean shakes himself back to the present. It’s probably a good thing he does, too, because he’s starting to think about the source of that heat, the body and the skin under the trench coat beside him.

“Bacon cheeseburger,” he manages to pronounce. He thinks his voice is a pretty good approximation of normal. He hopes it is. “And a beer.”

 

Dean is honestly surprised he survives the meal. Cas manages to shift himself surreptitiously throughout the evening so that before their food even arrives, his leg is pressed against Dean’s under the table. He means to bark out a protest at Cas’ hand darting out to steal a French fry off his plate, but it comes out choked and wordless because under the table, Cas’ other hand choses that exact moment to slide between Deans’ legs and palm his dick through the denim of his jeans. He’s not even sure why Cas stole the fry. It’s not like angels eat. Dean has a difficult time enjoying his burger even though it is, he has to admit, a pretty damn good burger. There’s too much going on beneath the table for him to pay it much mind. Cas’ touches are light and teasing, never giving him too much, but it still has Dean ready to beg for a reprieve by the time his plate is cleared away. He’s not sure how he’s going to make it from the restaurant to the motel with the raging hard on he’s sporting. He’s not even really sure how he’s going to make it from the table to the door without the entire restaurant noticing. Dean gulps a calming breath just before he stands, steeling his resolve and trying desperately to think of something unsexy. Sam makes it out of the booth first. Dean sends up silent thanks to whoever is listening for that small blessing. Cas steps out of the way to allow Dean out of the booth, but lets him lead the way out of the restaurant, and any composure Dean’s deep breath granted is stolen away by the gentle touch of Cas’ hand on the small of his back. The rise and fall of his chest is an exaggeration of breathing. It’s hyperbolic, because focusing on the intake and exhaust of air is the only thing keeping his hands at his sides as he walks out of the burger joint. There’s a smile on Dean’s face that he’s sure looks comical in its intensity. Cas’ hand slips down to glide over the curve of his ass for just a moment as they walk out the door, and Dean is barely able to suppress a desperate noise that threatens to form in his throat as the chill winter air hits his face. He either needs to get his hands on Castiel, right fucking now, or he’s going to murder Cas with those exact same hands. This is so unfair.

The cold air is a welcome shock to Dean’s system. He’s thankful for it, but also for the short walk between the restaurant and the motel. Sam and Cas carry on a conversation about…something. Monsters, maybe. Books? Dean’s not fucking paying attention. He’s just staring at the angel walking beside his brother, trying not to think of all the things the angel’s going to do to him whenever he can finally get him alone. Dean almost walks straight into the pair of them as they stop at a crosswalk and manages to catch himself at the last second. When they finally reach the motel there’s an awful, awkward moment where Dean thinks Sam’s going to want to hang out, the three of them, and he’s going to have to endure whatever torture Cas decides to subject him to for the next however many hours, and he doesn’t think his heart can take it. Thankfully, Sam stops short outside his own motel room door.

“If you guys are cool, I’m going to get back to my book. Haven’t had time to read anything that isn’t in Latin for longer than I care to admit,” he offers casually before unlocking his door and lumbering in. Dean breathes a sigh of relief, waving at his brother with an idle hand before reaching in to his jeans for his keycard. He doesn’t look back to see if Cas follows him in to the room, just strides across to the little desk and hangs his coat over the back of the chair. His hands are cold and his cheeks and the tip of his nose sting from the wind. It’s good to be inside, but he suddenly recalls why he was happy about the cold in the first place, because when he turns around he sees Cas staring at him with all the heat of a bonfire behind his eyes.

“Sam doesn’t know,” Cas states plainly. Dean shakes his head in response, incredulous that Cas would expect otherwise.

“No Cas. Can’t say I’ve considered talking about it, but I am sorta at a loss for words on what I’d actually say if I did y’know?” Cas regards him calmly for a moment before speaking.

“You are…ashamed?”

“No!” Dean replies quickly. “Not that. Just…No chick flick moments?” It sounds like a question as he says it, and Dean wonders whether it’s the whole truth or whether he’s just grasping for an explanation. It’s fear, probably.

It’s apparently enough of an explanation for Cas, who promptly walks across the room and presses his lips to Dean’s, slow and soft and saccharine sweet. There’s no heat to it, but as Castiel’s cold hands come up to clutch at the side of Dean’s face, contrasting warmth runs through his veins.

“We can stop any time, if you are uncomfortable,” Castiel offers, breaking the kiss to let his eyes meet Dean’s. Dean shakes his head with a fervour he knows he truly means. “Very well then.” Cas’ mouth is hot and insistent as it attacks Dean’s jaw, pressing wet kisses into the stubble that lingers there. His head is jerked back roughly by long slender fingers dragging blunt nails against his scalp, gripping a fistful of hair just long enough to grab onto. Dean gasps in surprise, but it turns into more of a startled moan as Cas drags his tongue down the side of Dean’s throat. His mouth latches on to a spot just above Dean’s collar bone, and he knows immediately that he’s going to have a mark to show for it in the morning. Dean’s hands clutch at Cas’ coat, fisting in the lapels like it’s a lifeline and the hard line of Cas’ erection is obvious as it presses against his thigh. Dean groans and tries to grind against the heat of Cas’ body.

“You don’t make it easy on a guy.” The words come out smooth and heavy like syrup. Cas doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he slides his hands around to press against the small of Dean’s back, sneaking under his tee-shirt to send chills up his spine. Cas’ hands are ice cold, still retaining the chill of their trek back to the motel and Dean jumps and twitches, gasping at both the shift in temperature and the gentle way Cas’ tongue plays at the skin of his throat. Cas moves his mouth back up to Dean’s and drags his tongue along Dean’s lower lip before moving back an infinitesimally small distance as their eyes meet.

“Should I?” Cas asks, his voice soft. “You’d rather I didn’t touch you when Sam is around?” He kisses Dean before he can respond. His hands slide further up Dean’s back, warmer now for all the icy touches they’ve left on Dean’s skin, and he tilts his head just so, turning the kiss into something deep and hungry. Dean’s breathless and dizzy by the time he has the chance to speak again. He finds it difficult to select the words.

“Not like that,” Dean manages to blurt out before Cas attacks his mouth with another kiss, this one messier and tinged with desperation. Dean leans in to it wantonly. He’s never going to be able to gather his thoughts if Cas keeps kissing him like this. It hasn’t occurred to Dean to care.

“But you don’t mind if I touch you,” Cas replies, a monotone statement, leaving mere seconds of stillness before his hands are pushing Dean’s shirt up. Dean ducks his head, lets Cas drag the garment up and off his body, leaving his chest bare. Cas’ hands run reverently over the planes of his chest, his fingertips dancing softly over scars and ribs and nipples as he waits for Dean to speak. Dean balks at the attention, huffs a sigh and averts his eyes.

“I don’t _want_ to hide you,” Dean says finally. “But I…” he trails off, distracted by Cas’ mouth teasing at his nipple. Dean tries to find the words to continue his explanation but his language skills are suddenly nonexistent.

“I could tell him,” Cas says suddenly. “If it would be easier for you, I can say it. Sam will understand.” Dean shakes his head.

“No, I think he needs to hear it from my own mouth. I just don’t know how to say it yet.” Cas shrugs out of his trench coat, nodding his assent before his slender, clever fingers go to work on the buttons of his shirt. Dean helps with the tie, letting it fall to the floor carelessly and pushing Cas’ shirt off his shoulders to follow it. He pulls Cas closer with a finger hooked into the waistband of his pants, draws him in until there’s no space left between them and Cas’ now bare chest is pressed against his own. The heat Dean felt radiating from the angel while he was trapped in the corner of the booth not half an hour ago is still present, amplified now that it’s skin on skin. Dean revels in it, drinks it in, letting his hands roam over shoulders and arms and the powerful muscles in Cas’ back as they sink into another kiss, languishing in each other’s arms. Cas’ lips are persistent. Each time Dean comes up for air, Cas grants him a brief respite and then dives in with renewed fervor, so that each kiss is deeper, hungrier than the last. His hands work at Dean’s belt buckle, the fly of his jeans, and then he’s pushing them down over Dean’s hips, shoving roughly at his boxers until they fall to the floor too. Cas’ hands linger and trace the curve of Dean’s ass.

“On the bed,” Cas commands, pulling his hands away. Dean complies, taking a moment to kick off his boots and step out of his fallen trousers before crossing the room. Cas discards his shoes and slacks before following. Dean lies back against the pillows to watch Cas approach. Not for the first time, he notices how gorgeous his angel is, with his piercing eyes and that hungry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Uh huh,” Cas chides, shaking his head. “Hands and knees.” Dean obeys without questioning, pausing only after he’s positioned with his ass in the air to consider how easily he takes the command. He doesn’t do it intentionally, he thinks. It’s trust, maybe. He trusts Cas.

“Good,” Cas murmurs. Dean feels the bed shift under his weight as Cas climbs on and kneels behind him. Those beautiful hands trace softly over his skin, caressing his flanks, pressing more firmly against the strong muscle of his thighs. Dean lets out a sigh of pleasure. He can’t help it. Cas knows exactly how to touch him.

The touches turn rougher by turns, thumbs kneading into Dean’s cheeks, fingers gripping at his hips as his palms glide over his rump. It’s such a tease. Cas drags the touches out over long minutes, stringing Dean tighter with each passing second until the tension radiates off his body in nearly visible waves. He makes a small humming noise, clearly pleased with the response Dean is giving, and with one hand firmly planted on Dean’s hip, he grazes his other thumb across the pucker of Dean’s tight hole. Dean gasps involuntarily. He welcomes such a direct touch after so much teasing. Cas is gentle, tracing over the ring of muscle with the pad of his thumb in small circles until Dean’s hips start to rock back against it.

“Stay still,” Cas admonishes. He grips Dean’s cheeks, pushing them apart with both hands. The groan that falls from Dean’s lips as Cas’ tongue laves over his asshole is sinful and desperate. It reverberates throughout the otherwise quiet room. Even now, Cas is teasing. He licks gently, flicking his tongue with just enough pressure to drive Dean wild. Cas’ hands hold Dean steady as he circles with the tip of his tongue, dragging soft and slow.

“Holy fuck,” Dean groans. He drops his head to the pillows, leaning on his forearms and breathing heavily. His cock is hard and heavy as it hangs between his legs, swinging to brush gently against his thigh every time he shifts but otherwise ignored.

“Too much?” Cas asks, smug and sarcastic. His breath is hot on Dean’s skin, and he doesn’t wait for a reply before pressing his tongue back into service, pressing the firm tip just a little ways past the tight pucker that is the focus of his attention.

“Fuck no!” Dean cries out, punctuating his own sentence with a filthy moan as Cas probes into him with his skillful tongue. “Just surprised me is all,” he pants. “Never—AHH!” he cuts off as Cas presses the tip of his finger in alongside his tongue, sparking pleasure throughout Dean’s body and cutting off all rational thought in his brain. He stops trying to talk and lets moans tumble from his open mouth as Cas licks and fingers his hole, pushing gently but insistently until he’s sliding a second finger in alongside the first.

Dean’s usual stoicism is completely broken when Cas crooks his fingers and brushes against his prostate. The combination of that devastating pleasure and the warm heat of Cas’ mouth threatens to undo him completely, ripping loud, unreserved noises from his throat. Dean’s hands are fisted in the sheets, gripping desperately as he falls apart under the touch of Castiel’s hands and the ministrations of his tongue.

“You like this,” Cas announces in a low, crooning baritone, working a third finger in and slowing his movements long enough to allow Dean to adjust. His tongue flicks lightly as he waits for Dean’s response.

“Ah fuck! Yes!” he cries, his words broken and strangled. He’s lost all composure now and he doesn’t care to fight to get it back. He cants his hips backwards in a futile attempt to draw Cas’ fingers deeper, but the angel moves with him to control the rhythm, deny Dean the friction he desires. Cas slows it down again, his movements lazy and calm, waits for Dean’s hips to still again. He’s groaning into the pillow, thighs quivering with the effort of remaining still, but he does as Cas wants, stopping his desperate chase with only a little bit of a whine. Cas twists his fingers on the next stroke, thrusting hard and deep, and grinds his fingertips against that sweet spot on the way out.

Dean’s cry pierces the room, so loud that it makes Cas’ breath catch in his throat. It’s a sharp, needy sound, perfect and beautiful and exactly what Cas wanted. So he does it again, twisting and thrusting and watching with joy and delight in his eyes as Dean’s entire body thrums with pleasure. He’s practically mewling now, whimpering and sobbing as Cas wiggles a fourth finger in alongside the others, not giving Dean even a moment to adjust this time.

“Please,” Dean chokes out between frantic whimpers. “I’m ready,” he sobs. Cas loves the blush that spreads across his neck and shoulders, the beautiful pink that plays backdrop to the constellations of freckles that adorn him. He thrusts all four fingers roughly against Dean’s prostate, watches as he arches his back, listens as he cries at the top of his lungs. He knows Dean’s ready, knows he can take it. He knew it before Dean started begging. But Cas is enjoying this.

“Shh,” Cas mutters soothingly, running the palm of his free hand over Dean’s hip adoringly. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. Dean can’t stop the wordless howls that are punched out of his gut each time Cas jabs against his sweet spot. They’re a gorgeous litany, profane and fantastic to Cas’ ear. He’s encouraged by it, pressing kisses to Dean’s flanks in tempo with his thrusting, until finally he decides Dean’s had enough. The fingers are gone in an instant. Dean gasps for breath as he’s finally given a chance to rest, coming back up on to his hands and twisting to watch as Cas digs through his duffel and comes back with a bottle of lube. He slicks his cock up quickly, but then takes his time running his hands over Dean’s hips, worshipping the curves and angles of his body for a moment before lining himself up and pushing all the way in with one long stroke.

Dean grunts, his head hanging low between his shoulders as he holds himself up on shaky arms. His breath is raw and ragged, and Castiel can tell before he even starts to move that Dean isn’t going to last. He’s already so wound up he’ll probably go off like a rocket the second Castiel wraps his fingers around Dean’s cock. So he doesn’t.

Instead, he grips Dean’s hips tight, his fingers biting roughly into flesh, and starts the motion of his hips. He skips right over the slow, sensual roll, and goes straight to slamming home, driving his hips into Dean’s with relentless force. He fucks Dean hard, heedless of the bruises his fingers are leaving on his hips. All Cas cares about is the brutal rhythm he’s pounding out, the slap of skin on skin, and the ceaseless babbling coming from the beautiful man beneath him, the mantra of _Fuck_ and _Yes_ and _Oh god Cas, right there, right there._

Dean is loud, howling wordlessly as he comes. Castiel never even had a chance to slide a hand between Dean’s legs and bring him to the edge with his fingers. Dean is always loud, but this is intense. He carries on moaning and whimpering as Cas rides him, grazing his sweet spot and sending aftershocks though his blissed-out body. The sounds decay into a low keening, drawn out and breathy but punctuated staccato by the force of Cas’ thrusts. His rhythm falters presently ,Cas’ own orgasm sending a halting shudder through his veins. He thrusts into Dean a few times more, wringing the last traces of pleasure out of the act for both of them before collapsing wordlessly onto the bed beside Dean. The air feels unearthly quiet in the aftermath, such a stark contrast to the delicious noises that filled the room only moments before, and Castiel sighs as Dean nuzzles against him for a moment before wobbling to the bathroom for a wet cloth.

It must be ten, fifteen minutes later, the two of them lying fucked-out and gloriously happy on the bed with no words spoken between them, when the knock comes at the door. Castiel moves quickest, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and grabbing for his pants, but Dean stops him with a hand on his arm. Dean shakes his head almost imperceptibly and before Cas can reply or protest, he’s off. Dean finds his own jeans quickly, and he’s got them on and buttoned before he reaches the door, chest still flushed and bare. He takes a deep, steeling breath before he opens the door, and suddenly Cas understands why.

“Hey Sam,” Dean mutters gruffly, not stepping back to invite his brother in to the room.

“Jesus Christ you work fast,” Sam says, with no small hint of accusation in his voice. “How did you even find time to pick someone up and make that much noise in the…” Sam leans past his brother slightly, and it’s just enough for his eyes to fall on Cas tucked under the blankets on the bed, a shameless smile on his face as he waves in greeting. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh. Hi Cas. Oh. Ok. Bye. Bye.” Sam covers his eyes and backs away.

“Sam, I can explain,” Dean wheedles, desperate to avoid the awkwardness he knows is going to follow when they get back in to the Impala and his brother decides this needs to be talked about.

“Nope, you don’t need to. It’s fine. It’s good. I just…visuals. I’m going to go. You two have fun.” And he nearly sprints back down the hall, not slowing until his fumbling hands can remember how to use the keycard and he’s back in the safety of his own room.

Dean shakes his head as he lets the door swing shut behind him.

“How did he take it?” Cas asks, watching intently as Dean sheds his jeans and climbs back in to bed.

“Panicked acceptance?” Dean replies. “I’m pretty sure this is all your fault.”

“I told you we could stop at any time,” Cas deadpans, throwing an arm around Dean’s shoulders and settling against his warmth. “Besides, you were insistent that he hear it from your own mouth. I’m sure you realize this technically meets those qualifications.”

The look Dean Gives him is anything but amused, but he can’t deny that Cas is, technically speaking, correct.

 


End file.
